Victims of The Arrow
by Rhiannon Drew
Summary: As Archie helps Horatio through a difficult time, they both realize that, despite all pretenses, we really demand more comfort than we often like to think. (R/R!)


  
V i c t i m s o f T h e A r r o w  
By Rhiannon Drew  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters of the Hornblower series; all rights belong to C.S. Forester, Andrew Grieve and everyone else who... well, has anything to do with the "owning" aspect of Hornblower. Either way, I was just borrowing the characters and having a little fun. Don't sue, mates! I'm just a Welsh lass that fancies a little hot bloke on hot bloke action almost as much as she fancies the hot blokes in question themselves.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Reading this story might have you thinking I'm a little bit off my rocker (possibly... I don't know what it takes to make you think someone's insane), but truthfully, it's just the view of things I've had in my head since the get-go... or at least "The Wrong War"/"The Frogs and The Lobsters". This story is totally canon (unless you count it's slashiness), and I guess it squeezes right into "The Wrong War" (or whatever... I'm not writing that out again); if I have to be specific, it happens during the period that follows Pellew and Horatio's little talk about Muzillac, but before the whole ending scene with Horatio, Archie and the rest of his division on top of the Indy, smilin' away and being sexy in general. Before I let you at the story (I know I'm talking a lot here, but bear with me), there's some recommended listening that you should know about! While you're reading this, try playing Barber's "Adagio for Strings, Op. 11" or "Storm" by Blyss (aka Lifehouse) in the background during the lovescene; it's what I was listening to when I wrote this (no, I do not listen to depressing music all the time), and it was suiting. Also, a million thanks go out to Andromeda and Victoria Bitter, my wonderful, stellar betas - thanks, mates! Anyway, I'm done now! Please enjoy the story, and if you've got anything at all to say about it, you can reach me at chickenvilla@wolframandhart.net. Flames aren't specifically requested, but if you're going to send them anyway, please do. I find them terribly amusing, and I don't get enough humour in my days...  
  
*****  
  
"Give sorrow occasion and let it go, or your heart will imprison you   
in constant February, a chain-link fence around frozen soil, where   
your dead will stack in towers past the point of grieving... Let your   
weeping be bitter and your wailing fervent; then be comforted for   
your sorrow. Find in grief the abandon you used to find in love..."  
  
- Allen Barnett, The *Times* As It Knows Us  
  
*****  
  
His eyes are but young, yet such years exist behind their depths!   
Ages, eras, millennia... They are so huge, his eyes, so dark, but in   
them he sees something ancient reflected back at him, like a mirror   
to a soul that has known twenty lifetimes rather than just twenty   
years.  
  
He'll soon learn, the men are saying. Since returning to the Indy   
from French soil, they have watched their hero -- their young   
Lieutenant Horatio -- getting through each minute, each hour, by   
just... existing. He'll learn to move on; it's what they promise each   
other. They tell themselves that someday he'll start living again   
instead of just gliding along with a chilling sort of detachment that   
shows in his eyes. He's growing up, is Horatio. He's just a boy...   
all boys grow up eventually. He'll learn.  
  
Archie Kennedy wants to tell them all no, that Horatio is more than   
just some lovesick boy burned into this sad, introverted state. Why   
does he have to grow up any more than he already has? He is being   
forced into a maturity that he hasn't lived long enough to completely   
understand, and the lessons are becoming too difficult for him to   
take in. He is burning out, and no one can see it for the high   
expectations they have for him -- expectations that are doing   
anything but easing up.  
  
After a little while, Archie begins to lose track of how many times   
he has asked Horatio if he is all right, and he does not want to hear   
the words, "I'm fine," anymore. They hold about as much meaning as   
Horatio's voice holds life, but in his heart he knows the Lieutenant   
will never admit otherwise. For now, those two little words are a   
shield that stands against the outside world as well as against his   
own self; Horatio isn't growing in spite of the circumstances that   
have befallen him -- in one word, Muzillac -- he is hiding because of   
them, withdrawing from everything around him that much more every   
minute.   
  
How does Archie explain to his best friend that there is a difference   
between weakness and knowing one's limits? Isn't there a time in   
Horatio's life where he is allowed to surrender to the things he has   
no power over, even for just a little while?  
  
Isn't he allowed his one moment of weakness?  
  
Isn't he allowed to be human, maybe if no one is looking?  
  
Neither Archie nor Horatio have much time for themselves after   
returning to the Indy. Their doomed "sojourn" to Muzillac has been   
both tiring and demanding, but there is still a ship to be run.   
Pellew is tolerant of Horatio's state, even sympathetic, and though   
he does not excuse them from their duties except for a small break,   
the Captain calls Archie into his cabin just as his watch ends.   
You've had a long day, he says. If you wish it, you can take enough   
water for yourselves to wash up. Take a bath, get some rest.  
  
For the second time that day, Archie is being told to look after   
Horatio by someone other than himself. He supposes that is how he   
winds up in the younger man's cabin, watching him suffering inside   
and trying not to let his best friend see his pain. In his eyes,   
Horatio looks so painfully alone, but Archie refuses to let it be so.   
Not, at least, if he can help it. It is for Horatio's sake as much as   
it is for his own.  
  
"Come now, Horatio," he murmurs gently. He is mindful that Horatio   
does not want to let him do this, but Archie will not see his closest   
friend -- his soul mate, truly – be swallowed up by his own torturous   
thoughts.   
  
Gently, he pulls the hem of Horatio's linen shirt from the waistband   
of his breeches and lifts the entire thing over his head. He next   
removes the breeches themselves and sets them down in a neat pile   
beside the rest of his clothing. His friend hasn't the heart to   
glare, but Archie nevertheless senses resistance simmering below the   
surface, buried far beneath this state of stoic lethargy. Ill at ease   
in his nakedness and faintly shivering with a phantom chill, Horatio   
is too emotionally and mentally exhausted to put up much of a fight.   
His eyes, though... Archie can see the indignity flaring up in them   
as he helps him slip into the tub filled with warm water, and a   
muscle twitches angrily in Horatio's cheek. He knows that Horatio   
does not want to be cared for; he does not want this attention. He   
wants to distance himself from anyone who knows him dearly enough to   
recognize his misery, and he is silently furious with the   
understanding that Archie will not allow that.  
  
Mutely, Archie picks up a cloth and a bar of rough soap, and then   
begins to clean his best friend, wiping away smears of dirt from his   
face, his neck, his body. Horatio has not noticed -- nor cared about -  
- how worn he has looked all day, but at the touch of the soap on his   
skin, lightly burnt from the explosion on the bridge, he flinches.   
Understanding, Archie reaches for the jug of water and slowly pours   
it over the Lieutenant's head, combing his hands through the wet,   
dark curls of hair while he tries to ignore the brown eyes on his   
face, begging him to be left alone without saying anything. The ship   
seems unnaturally soundless around them, and the quiet does nothing   
to lessen the tension thick in the air.  
  
"Say something, Horatio," Archie whispers, but his response does not   
come. Biting his lip, he pauses with the washcloth on Horatio's   
smooth chest. "You know I cannot let you simply..." He trails off,   
choking on the silence.  
  
Soon he is again alone with Horatio in his cabin, where they will   
hopefully not be disturbed. The younger man has a soft, warm blanket   
wrapped around his waist, held loosely in place by one hand. He is   
almost slumped where he stands, listless, and Archie grips his arm   
with the fear that he will crumple to the ground like the lifeless   
doll he so resembles at this moment. He seems as vulnerable as ever,   
but he is still valiantly trying to hide it. Trying, and failing.  
  
As Archie finds another dry cloth and begins to towel off the water   
clinging to Horatio's body, his friend's eyes squeeze shut. Archie   
watches his face, watches, and he swallows a sound of distress when   
the tears begin to fall from behind those long eyelashes, sliding   
down Horatio's flushed, but clean, face. Archie wipes them away with   
a sort of desperation, hoping to hide them from himself and Horatio   
both. But they are not stopping. They stream down his face as Archie   
continues to dry him, his body shaking with sobs he is unable to hold   
back. He tries to regardless, choking on them in the back of his   
throat and hiccupping. He tries, and Archie watches him fail once   
more.  
  
Archie finds a way to pull him closer by rubbing the cloth over his   
shoulders and back, feeling Horatio's head dipping forward as he   
cries, his damp hair brushing the top of the older man's   
neck. "Shhh..." Archie says into his ear, now embracing him   
fully. "Just cry, Horatio... There is no shame in it... It's all   
right to cry..."   
  
He is unsure of how long it is before the shuddering sobs subside. He   
still feels the tears wet against his cheek, but Horatio has quieted   
except for the sound of his ragged, harsh breathing. Archie holds him   
still, feeling the warmth of his slightly shivering body and the   
tickle of his hair against his face. He wants to say something, but   
he is afraid to move his mouth to form the words. He's almost afraid   
to breathe, afraid to make a sound. He wants to try and pay attention   
to something other than the press of Horatio's body against him, the   
whisper of his breath against his neck, but nothing draws his   
attention. Nothing, that is, until Horatio gives a small sniffle and   
turns his head a little, his nose bumping Archie's cheek. Hesitantly,   
his lips brush the same spot, and then Archie feels them pressed   
against the corner of his mouth.  
  
Stiffening, Archie withdraws and raises startled eyes to Horatio's.   
The Lieutenant's eyes are moist and red, but despite the tears still   
flowing, they're clear and focused on his friend's face. "Archie..."   
he sighs, quietly. For a second his eyes lower bashfully, but only   
for a second. Closing the distance, he kisses Archie again and   
whimpers in protest when he is pushed away, though not out of the   
embrace.  
  
"Do not," Archie warns, his voice hitching.   
  
"Why?!"  
  
"You do not know what you are asking."  
  
"I don't want to hear that I don't know what I'm asking," he whispers   
back, desperately nuzzling into Archie's soft throat. "I do know,   
Archie, I do..."  
  
"Horatio, no. You are not thinking properly right now," Archie sucks   
in a breath at Horatio's furious shake of his head. "You need time to   
mourn, and you have not been granted it yet -- Mariette's death is   
still fresh on your mind. This isn't what you want. Your pain is   
deluding your thoughts, man!"   
  
"I know what I want," Horatio cries, fisting Archie's linen   
shirt. "But I don't just *want*, Archie. I need... need something..."   
His voice has trailed off, no more words forming. In the lull, Archie   
tries to object again, but Horatio lifts his head and his hand comes   
up to Archie's face, those long, elegant fingers stroking against the   
skin, almost trying to soothe the fears right out of him. "Just...   
please... I need *you*..."   
  
"I cannot, Horatio. *We* cannot let ourselves do this. You know we   
cannot..." He swallows, convulsively. "No matter how much we..."   
Horatio is watching him dig for the words within himself, and he   
makes a tiny, anxious sound. "No matter how much we might want it, we   
cannot. Understand." He stops again, briefly. "Understand that I   
am... frightened? I do not know what else to think, but if we were   
caught, Horatio... If we were *caught*..."  
  
"They do not matter," Horatio declares quietly, though   
passionately. "They will not find us here... Believe me, I beg of   
you. Do not leave me alone! I... I could not bear it. I promise they   
will not find us here."  
  
"Horatio, you can't promise--"  
  
"Don't bloody tell me that!"  
  
"For God's sake, Horatio, stop it!" Archie is about to push him away   
completely, but Horatio gives an agonized wail and wraps himself more   
tightly around him.   
  
They are almost an even match in strength -- Archie perhaps a little   
stronger -- but he cannot find a way out of Horatio's arms. The   
Lieutenant's hold is made nearly infallible by his desperation; as   
surely as he will not let go, Horatio's warm mouth peppers tiny   
kisses down his face, across his lips, along his jaw. He is   
murmuring "please" over and over, losing them both in that despondent   
mantra. Archie is becoming tangled in the quiet word, the awesome   
request, the provocative touches... everything. He needs to get away   
from this, and not just for Horatio's sake in this horrible   
condition.   
  
He needs to get away before he is drawn in even more completely...  
  
"I will not allow you to do this to yourself!" Archie manages to cry.   
For a moment he thinks that he has disentangled himself, but the   
thought no sooner comes and goes before Horatio is grasping his head   
with both hands, kissing him hard enough to steal breath.   
  
It is... blinding.   
  
Archie's eyes pinch shut as fireworks explode in his field of vision,   
wiping out everything around him except for the feel of those plump   
lips and these new and exciting sensations -- kissing Horatio is   
otherwise indescribable. He can feel the heavy blanket, held secure   
in their closeness, and he can feel nearly every line of Horatio's   
body against him, as if he were actually exploring that wonderful   
figure himself, with his own hands.  
  
With a yowl of near grief, Archie feels his will ebbing away,   
swallowed up by a kiss that offers comfort where it has been lost,   
asking nothing but the same in return. Let love heal all wounds,   
Archie hears. Not time, not friendship. Love. It can happen. Archie   
*wants* to give it that chance; he wants to shape his beloved Horatio   
into something more bright and more beautiful than either of them had   
ever imagined...  
  
That bond is in his grasp. It is up to him alone to take it all the   
way, to take their bond of the deepest friendship and change it into   
one of love. He could show Horatio how to love the way they both   
need, and be taught in turn. Isn't that the question here, after all?  
  
Let me learn to know the love I need to feel. This is so much more   
than a question of want, don't you see? Won't you let me love you?   
Horatio is silent, but the words are loud. The kiss has ended. They   
have pulled away but slightly.   
  
Archie finally understands that this is no longer about losing   
Mariette, if it ever really was. That sadness still exists here, but   
it isn't about that, either. Death is theirs to face every day; how   
can they allow time any more of its passage when it can snatch up a   
life so quickly, destroying the capacity and the chance for love to   
grow? This is about cutting out everything that exists in between and   
loving in the right places.  
  
Horatio *has* learned. He *has* grown. He is tired of waiting. If   
this is what they want, he will not fight it any longer. If this   
could be the love he seeks, he will not let it pass him by.  
  
All that remains is Archie's answer, Archie's willingness to take   
that same chance. Is he afraid of love, or is he just afraid of   
loving? Can he be what they both want him to be?  
  
"Archie?"  
  
"I don't want to be afraid, Horatio."  
  
*****  
  
Their eyes meet again, and with a shy sort of slowness, Horatio finds   
Archie's lips once more. It is different now: where they have found   
answers, new questions are being asked. The kiss is chaste and   
unsure. It is such a gentle meeting of their mouths, but in one swift   
moment Archie already feels like his lips are on fire, burning,   
searing, desperate for what relief he can find by returning Horatio's   
passions to him. He can feel the younger man's hand upon his face,   
but now it is cupping his jaw and trying to draw him closer instead   
of merely requesting that this be allowed.  
  
This should not be allowed, but Horatio's lips are so soft, so full,   
so inviting, and his body is too deliciously warm and wonderfully   
solid to turn down now. They have stopped caring about all the should   
not's, and in an instant Archie knows he is hopelessly lost in this.   
He is tasting such unbelievable sweetness and he cannot -- will not --  
ever get enough of it. Had Mariette been drawn in the same way? The   
question circles his mind for a second, but then Horatio's mouth has   
parted slightly, unconsciously, and Archie is all too eager to take   
the lead in things and deepen the kiss. Even so, he is the one who is   
begging. His hands, one pressing insistently against Horatio's strong   
shoulder, the other sliding around his waist to settle in the small   
of his back, are the ones carrying out the desperate plea. Horatio is   
not the only one who wants... needs... to be held. God help him, he's   
not...  
  
Horatio's other arm wraps around Archie too, and between them the   
blanket abandoned around the Lieutenant's waist begins to slip down,   
and down... With a sense of daring he hadn't expected to feel,   
Archie's hand on Horatio's back moves slowly to rest on his bare hip,   
gently encouraging the blanket's fall to the deck. What is he doing,   
he wonders? Why is it so easy to give into this, this passion that   
wakes his body in ways he hasn't felt in years? Why can he   
concentrate on nothing other than Horatio, surrounding him, pulling   
him in? He's drowning in this wide-eyed, dark-haired cherub as surely   
as he always has, but this is so much different than before, so much   
closer... He isn't dreaming any more.  
  
The thinking, the reality, can wait until the morning. It all can.   
Horatio has not asked him to think right now, and for him... for   
them... Archie will not. But he will feel, and maybe he will love the   
way Horatio wants him to.   
  
*****  
  
"What do I do?"  
  
He feels like a boy again. He feels like he's leaving everything he   
knows behind and entering into something terrifying and beautiful and   
exciting all at once; he could laugh, but wonders if maybe he should   
cry instead, or vice versa. He feels like he's watching himself from   
far away, watching himself being caressed and kissed and loved by   
soft lips and gentle hands. He wants to move and touch and explore in   
turn, and he wants to halt everything and hold each moment forever.   
This is more right than breathing.   
  
From Archie, there is a knowing smile. "Just love, Horatio."  
  
He can't stop shaking.  
  
*****  
  
This does not hurt like he thought it might. It is not without pain,   
but everything is lost in the warm blue of Archie's eyes, the way he   
bites his lip to keep from crying out, the way he smells like the   
sea, the refreshing soap from his bath and something Horatio has   
decided is just... him. He feels like an extension of himself, a part   
always missing but now returned. He has asked to be held, but is   
loving and being loved without questioning why.  
  
Horatio gasps for air, but feels like each breath is being sucked   
back out of his body every time Archie moves with him, in him. He   
isn't sure of who's holding whom more tightly but they're locked so   
closely together that he can feel every inch of Archie's body, every   
thump of his heart in his chest and the flexing of each muscle. *I'll   
hold on if you will.* His legs tighten around Archie's hips as   
Archie's mouth seals them in a binding kiss.  
  
This isn't going to end.  
  
He won't let it.  
  
*****  
  
Archie can feel when the dawn comes. He doesn't know why, nor how,   
but he senses it like a tangible shift in the air as the sun rises   
above the ocean and the sky grows light with the new day. The light   
does not reach them in the cramped space of Horatio's cabin, but he   
feels it.  
  
The candle has burned down to a useless nub in the lantern, but the   
wick still glows red and orange, desperately clinging to this last   
bit of life when everything has faded to the darkness. Archie yawns   
sleepily, and Horatio shifts in his arms, his soft hair tickling the   
underside of Archie's chin like a caress. He murmurs unintelligibly,   
one hand flexing where it rests on Archie's side. Archie smiles to   
himself and draws Horatio closer into his embrace so he can inhale   
the wonderful scent of him and press a fleeting kiss to the top of   
his head. Soon the younger man will wake from his trusting slumber,   
and this state of near vulnerability will disappear like it never   
was. Reality has already begun to reassert itself with the morning,   
and if Archie can hold onto these last few moments of peacefulness,   
he will.  
  
This time, like the night passed, is theirs. There is no Mariette, no   
Muzillac, no Indefatigable and no damned Royal Navy that can take   
this away. If they cannot have the future, this can stay. But the   
future has yet to reveal its plans...  
  
Beside him, there is a groggy little moan, the sound of someone who   
would rather not have woken up. "Archie?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"Around dawn, I think -- it appears that the Captain was willing to   
allow us some extra sleep."  
  
"Oh." Almost stiffly, Horatio rolls his shoulders and yawns adorably.   
A pause, then, "Archie?"  
  
"Horatio?"  
  
"Am I supposed to say anything?"  
  
"Not necessarily."  
  
"I think that I want to..." Moving about again, Horatio doesn't fall   
still until he has turned from lying half on top of Archie on his   
stomach, to lying half on top of him on his back. He sighs when   
Archie acquiesces and slips one arm around his shoulders, the other   
falling alongside his own arm. Perplexed with his own thoughts,   
Horatio takes Archie's right hand in both of his, fidgeting with   
it. "I just don't know if I'd be able to stop after the first word is   
out."  
  
"I know what you mean. Maybe it's best if we just leave it be for   
now."  
  
"Maybe." Horatio lets out another heavy sigh, and it is a while   
before he speaks again. "Archie?"  
  
He can't hold back the chuckle that escapes him. Horatio's is a sort   
of perpetual innocence he can live with. "Yes?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
*****  
  
From the very top of the foremast, it's like everything takes on a   
dream-like quality, a sort of perfection that can't be found anywhere   
else on the ship, not even on land. Maybe it's the sense of freedom,   
or maybe just the dizzying height, but up there, the ocean glistens   
and the midday air lives. When so much of it can be seen at once, the   
world looks larger than life. Archie delights in being able to span   
the horizon with one hand from so high up. Beside him, Horatio grins   
as he pulls himself up all the way, and it is the first smile he has   
allowed himself. It brings such joy to Archie to see the lift in his   
spirits; knowing he helped raise them makes it seem too unbelievably   
worthwhile to be true.   
  
Laughing as Archie gives a playful shout, Horatio clutches the rope   
he is holding on to more tightly and turns to face his friend,   
shouting over the wind. "Where do we go from here, Archie?"  
  
The question is so well suited for where they are, and even if Archie   
knows Horatio isn't talking about travelling, it remains as such. "I   
don't know," he shouts back, grinning. "Maybe we don't have to go   
anywhere. We could just stay here and never have to worry about   
anything. They couldn't touch us if we stayed here."  
  
"Does that mean you don't want this to be an ending?"  
  
At that, Archie stops, but neither his smile nor the laughter in his   
eyes fade. "I suppose I don't, at that," he answers,   
tentatively. "But... what about... everything? Have you thought about   
how difficult it would be to live a life in the Navy and have *this*   
at the same time?"  
  
The tenderness on Horatio's face is heartening. "What about *us*?"  
  
Archie is reluctant to smile, but he cannot help it. "Well, then,   
dare I say that it remains to be seen? Only a fool can say what lies   
in the future."  
  
"I think I might really love you, you know." Horatio's voice softens   
a little. But, he says this with the kind of certainty that makes it   
clear that these are not words borne out of sorrow or grieving or the   
mere need for others. It is the kind of certainty that tells Archie   
that Horatio is completely in control here, completely aware of what   
he is saying.  
  
How does Archie answer something like that, with so much riding on   
either side? Does he choose the normal life he's always wanted, the   
life at sea with success and glory? Does he choose the adventure, the   
challenge for true happiness?   
  
Does he choose love?  
  
"This won't be easy," he points out. "It won't be like anything we've   
ever done before."  
  
"I don't know if I could go back to the way anything was before after   
last night," Horatio declares, eyes sparkling. "I'm willing to risk   
it if you are."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"I believe I am, Archie."  
  
"Then let's..."   
  
Archie's voice trails off as he expects to be unable to continue, but   
Horatio's words are echoing in his head, echoing as if the right   
answer is in sight and he'd be a fool to ignore it. This moment is   
etching itself into his memory already, so why can't he take it all   
the way?   
  
Suddenly, he smiles, and this brings a smile to Horatio's own face   
that is as bright and dazzling as the sun. "Then let's not make this   
an ending."  
  
Archie hears the promise in his own voice and finds that he can see   
it in Horatio's wonderful, dark eyes:   
  
They never will.  
  
  
~Finis~  
  



End file.
